


Not all that glitters is gold

by ColdPorridge22



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Homophobia, Hurt Yuuri, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Light Angst, M/M, Protective Yuri Plisetsky, Violence, worried victor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 18:52:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9251222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColdPorridge22/pseuds/ColdPorridge22
Summary: Retelling of ep. 8 and 9. Victor flies back to Japan in the middle of the Rostelecom Cup. Unfortunately, some Russians are angry with Yuuri because of two very specific reasons: he had stolen their legend, Victor Nikiforov, off the ice and second: the Japanese pervert had lured him into a homosexual relationship. The greatest sin.And now Yuuri was all alone in Russia, laying everything on the line for a spot in the Grand Prix Final. Some people, however, do not wish to see him there.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in one go without editing (except typos). The little king/queens joke in the beginning belongs to Supernatural (all hail Supernatural).

Normally when skaters convened to say their goodbyes after a competition, they wished each other good luck and usually trash-talked a bit out of friendly rivalry.

 

After the Cup of China, he had also received some good-natured ribbing about the kiss Victor had planted on him in front of the entire ice rink and all the cameras. He had expected that; it hadn't exactly been a secret. He welcomed the congratulations and the lewd comments with a blush. It was a nice reason to stand out - very nice, in Yuuri's opinion.

 

He'd thought it odd that Georgi Popovich had pulled him aside after he'd mentioned that he looked forward to going to Victor's home country for his next competition.

 

"Be careful." He'd said, his face serious and dramatic.

 

Yuuri hadn't thought much on it at that point. Georgi was a drama queen, to be honest. He was probably talking about Victor, that he was a known heart-breaker or something. Well, Yuuri knew better. He knew Victor better than that.

 

But then he started noticing it with Phichit and Chris - at separate occasions as well. Both had grilled him about his kiss with Victor (and more importantly, whether there would be more), Phichit in his enthusiastic, supportive manner and Chris in his own leery and perverse, but still strangely sweet way.

 

He answered them as best he could, that yes, that was their first kiss and no, there hadn't been a second one... yet. And he'd quipped that if he did well in Russia, maybe there would be a second one.

 

And Phichit and Chris had responded just like Georgi:

 

"Be careful."

_Be careful._

 

Then it clicked. Russia. Russia was why he needed to be careful. Because of the very public kiss he'd shared with Victor. Of course, in the ice skating world a large portion of the male competitors were bi or gay. It wasn't a big deal. Yuuri hadn't thought much about going to Russia in that sense; he just saw it as another international ice skating competition. It was just in another part of their ice skating world. But his competitors' warnings had shaken him off his fluffy cloud and sent him back down to Earth.

 

And now, here he was, together with Victor in Russia, having landed earlier that morning. He felt uneasy, glancing around at pedestrians milling around them, wondering whether they were looking at them.

 

Yuuri gave the handle of his suitcase a tug, dragging it over the threshold. Was he being paranoid? He looked around the shining lobby for answers. Only a handful of people were there and none of them seemed to have any interest in the uncommon pair making their way across to the counter. Victor checked them in, chatting with the hotel employee easily in his native Russian language.

 

The clerk shifted his head, gazing at Yuuri now. Yuuri froze under the man's stare. He was a portly man, middle-aged and looking as embittered as only portly middle-aged Russian natives could seem to look. Cold brown eyes narrowed at him and Yuuri's stomach twisted in knots. There was more than just Russian sourness in that stare.

 

It felt malevolent.

 

Victor didn't notice, instead kept chatting happily as he filled out the forms and held out his hand to receive their room key. That made the employee take his eyes off Yuuri, as he grunted something guttural at Victor and delivered the key card.

 

Yuuri tore his eyes away, dragging his suitcase to the elevator before Victor had a chance to end his conversation.

 

He'd had this strange sense of foreboding ever since they boarded the plane to Sheremetyevo Airport. It wasn't just that he was the odd one out on the ice this season. He was used to that. His spotty performance, either great or abysmal depending on his mental state, was no news to him or any of his fellow skaters.

 

No, this time it was different. He was on Victor's home turf now. It had been a running gag ever since Victor sought him out in Hasetsu, that Yuuri had stolen him from the sport. Yuuri Katsuki, the one who had taken a five-time golden medalist, a living legend and the pride of Russia, off the ice. Minako, Mari, everyone had joked that the Russians must hate him.

 

Joked.

 

But then why didn't he feel like laughing?

 

Victor slung an arm around his shoulders as he joined him by the elevator.

 

"What a droll fellow!" He remarked, elated. "You know what he asked me when I checked in? 'A king or two queens?' Who said that Russian don't do subtle humor?"

 

Yuuri couldn't laugh with him and instead wormed his way out from under Victor's arm. He could still feel the clerk's cold eyes on him, all the way from the front desk across the hall.

 

Russia wasn't exactly known for its tolerant views of people who were anything other than straight. Maybe a legend like Victor could get away with such public displays of affection, but Yuuri wasn't so sure that _he_ could. He already felt like he was in enemy territory as the thief of their national figure skating treasure; he wasn't about to dig his grave any deeper. The warnings of his friends still lingered in his head.

_Be careful_.

 

Victor shot a questioning glance sideways at Yuuri, but dropped his arm all the same.

 

Silently, they rode the elevator up to their floor and found their room.

 

"Are you ashamed?" He asked as soon as they walked in.

 

Yuuri whipped his head around at Victor as he closed the door behind him.

 

"Of course not." He whispered.

 

Victor had sagged down on the bed, looking up at him, his azure eyes sad behind his silver bangs.

 

"I just thought... you've been pulling back from me. Maybe shouldn't have kissed you."

 

"That's not it!" Yuuri blurted out. He blushed as he saw hope creep up in Victor's eyes. "It's just... this is Russia. People don't _like_ that sort of thing here. I feel like everyone's staring at me."

 

Victor laughed, a sweet tinkling sound. " _Yuuri_." He intoned impatiently. "A lot has changed in Russia. Believe me, I've lived here for a long time and I've never had _any_ negativity because of my sexuality. You're worrying over nothing. They're probably staring at you because you're so pretty."

 

"Oh, shut up." Yuuri felt his cheeks go red, but he felt better already. He was being overly suspicious; he should trust Victor on this.

 

"Now then." Victor leaned forward with a glint in his eyes. "Are you sure that was your only objection to our kiss?"

 

A grin spread out across his face and in two steps, he was standing in front of Victor. Feeling bolder because of their conversation, he stroked his hand across Victor's cheek and smiled at him. Victor smiled back - Yuuri's eyes roamed over the curve of his lips, how soft and plump they looked... he couldn't wait to taste him again. Properly this time.

 

So he did.

 

###

 

The day of the short program arrived sooner than either of them had liked. They'd only had a little time off between practice since they arrived in Moscow and that time flew by. More kisses had followed the first and the second one, though they didn't do much more than that. They both needed their head in the game if Yuuri wanted to advance to the Grand Prix Final.

 

A nervous excitement rang through the air, like a hot air current, blazing around everyone who entered the arena that day. Whereas the rink had previously been devoid of spectators, now they streamed in in great numbers. The excitement only rose as his fellow competitors performed, each better than the previous one.

 

Yuuri hadn't thought much about the warning since that first day in Moscow. Victor had taken his mind off it very effectively, sweeping him away to the world in his embrace and under his lips, where nothing mattered but the two of them. In the rink, only skaters and coaches had been present, few of them Russian, none of them bigoted. Now, though, Yuuri started to feel intimidated again as throngs of people started chanting Victor's name.

 

Victor was enjoying it. He was cheerfully waving at the crowd, even while Yuuri was seconds away from starting his short program.

 

Yuuri had to admit it - he was a little jealous. Victor shouldn't be distracted by all these faceless people. He should be looking at _him_ , like he was the only person in the world. He did the only thing he could think of to get Victor's attention back on him. He snatched his tie and yanked him close.

 

"The performance has already begun, Victor."

 

"You're right."

 

"Don't worry. I'll show my love to the whole of Russia."

 

The people of Russia could not intimidate him. Not here in enemy territory, not anywhere in the world. He was proud of what he and Victor had achieved, both on the ice and off it. He'd lay it all bare. _Be careful_ , his friends had said. But they were wrong. It was Russia that should be careful, not Yuuri.

With Victor at his side, nothing could hurt him.

 

###

 

He'd beaten his personal best, Yurio had let his anger interfere with his performance and Victor had rewarded him by pulling him behind the curtain and giving him a kiss that left Yuuri more breathless than his short program. All in all, Yuuri was feeling pretty damn fine.

 

That's why the news about Maccachin felt like a kick in the teeth with a steel-toed boot.

 

It had taken some time to convince Victor that he should return to Japan. But Yuuri would never forgive himself if he hadn't pushed Victor to go. Not after carrying the guilt about Vicchan around for years. Yuuri was a big boy - he could skate his free program with his eyes closed. There was no reason why he should perform less because there was one fewer spectator - no matter how important that spectator was. It was still only Yuuri's job to perform.

 

Maccachin needed Victor more than Yuuri did.

 

So it was with a heavy heart that he gave Victor one last, lingering hug in the hotel lobby, taking in his final instructions. The sense of foreboding returned, teasing him at the edge of his mind. With dread in his stomach, he watched the back of Victor's long coat sway gently in the freezing Moscow wind as he hailed a cab. God, he hoped Maccachin would be alright.

 

He swallowed and tore his eyes away from Victor's tall form. He should get some sleep. He owed it to Victor to perform his very best the next day.

 

Something made him stop in his tracks as he walked towards the elevator. It felt like he was being watched, eyes prickling at the back of his neck. He spun on his heel, his eyes flitting nervously around the lobby to find the culprit.

 

There.

 

The hotel clerk was standing in the corner, by a vending machine. He was talking to someone - no, two people. Their forms were nearly hidden behind a tall potted fern, but even through the myriad of leaves he felt their eyes. He didn't see much of the other two - one blonde haired, the other bald, he thought. Yuuri was too far away to discern many more of their features.

 

The paranoia returned in full swing and suddenly he was painfully aware that he was _alone_ here. He felt fear in the back of his throat, burning hot. He wanted out of here. He needed to leave.

 

He tore his eyes away, still feeling theirs. He bypassed the elevator and made for the stairs. As soon as he was out of sight, he sprinted up the steps two at a time, all the way to the eighth floor. Despite his stamina, he was panting raggedly as he reached his room and slammed the door shut. He locked every single bolt and moved his suitcase up against the door to block it.

 

He wondered whether he was exaggerating, but then again, maybe it couldn't hurt to be a little careful...

 

###

 

The sense of dread did not abate on the morning of the free skate. Yuuri was completely caught up in his own thoughts, not even hearing Yakov when he tried to impart some actual coaching (which, incidentally, started with _Victor probably never taught you that_ -). He shut him out. Victor had taught him plenty - more than enough to win, so there was no excuse not to do his very best today.

He left the ice after the six minute warm up, putting on his skate protectors and making a beeline for his phone. Somewhere in the corner of his eye he saw Yakov, opening his mouth, but Yuuri wasn't interested. He only wanted to hear from Victor.

 

His nerves were shooting through the roof. He didn't know why - maybe it was worry for Victor and Maccachin, maybe it was that damned ominous feeling that haunted him ever since he'd set foot on Russian soil... or maybe it was just the competition. He still had to pull out a good performance to get through to the Grand Prix Final. That in itself was enough to turn his stomach.

 

He wandered away from the ice, trying to find a spot where he had a bit of reception. His phone wasn't working so close to the rink. He had a little time before he needed to return to the ice; several other skaters had to do their free program first.

 

A happy bleep alerted Yuuri to an incoming text just as he passed the changing rooms. He'd gotten a message from Victor, he saw. Maccachin would be alright, Victor wrote.

 

Yuuri let out a relieved sigh and he smiled. Thank god, that was great news. He felt a load of worry slide off his shoulders. Now he just needed to skate a great program for Victor and get through to the Grand Prix Final. Then he could fly to Japan and spend a little time with Victor and Maccachin, before his final challenge began.

 

He was beaming as he and Victor exchanged a couple of messages. It was almost as if Victor was standing next to him, cheering him on. A glance at the clock told him that he should wrap up and return to the ice. He sent a final message to Victor, receiving a final wish for good luck, and he locked his screen.

 

The jittery feeling of nerves swooped down on him again, a familiar companion in his skating. The edge of dread was still there as well, but he couldn't think about that right now. He pushed himself up and off the bench, making his way past the changing rooms again. The area was deserted, only the music of Yurio's routine and the cheers of the crowd filtering through and filling the air.

 

He should hurry.

 

"Found you."

 

He spun around when he heard the voice, a deep voice speaking English with a heavy Russian accent. But before he could lay eyes on the person who had spoken, a sharp pain exploded across his brain.

 

"Ahh!" He yelled in pain and surprise. It took all his effort to stay standing, but he managed. He brought his hand up to the side of his head, where he'd been hit pretty hard.

 

"Why-what..." He started, but before he could finish that sentence, a fist was flying at his face, connecting with his cheekbone. A _crack_ echoed through the empty hall. This time he couldn't stay upright, crumpling as the second source of pain sent him to his knees.

 

"You're fucking disgusting, you queer."

 

Yuuri only succeeded in opening his eyes a little, but he recognized them immediately. The two men who had been talking to the hotel clerk. Blonde and bald. They'd cornered him in this quiet part of the rink.

 

"Nikiforov stopped skating because of you. And you perverted him. We don't take that lightly." The bald man said threateningly.

 

The blonde man raised his fist again. Yuuri noted with a detached sort of surprise that blood was staining his knuckles. His blood.

 

"He belongs here. And you, you're nothing but filth, you don't deserve to skate where he should skate! You're nothing but a pathetic loser, how dare you take Vi-"

 

"Yuuri, where the hell are you! You need to be- what the hell!" A loud voice interrupted him.

 

Yuuri's vision was swimming, his head pounding and terror racing through his veins. At that moment, he truly believed that an angel had descended on Earth in the form of Yakov Feltsman.

 

What happened next, happened too fast for his brain to comprehend. More people came in, shouting, making more noise than Yuuri could handle. His two attackers were shouting, but they were drowned out by other people surrounding them. Gentle hands grabbed his arm and lifted his chin.

 

Yuuri groaned and squeezed his eyes shut as the movement caused him to look into the too-bright fluorescent lights on the ceiling.

 

"Yuuri..."

 

He recognized that voice.

_Yurio_.

 

That brought Yuuri back to reality. He gripped at the material of Yakov's coat, hauling himself upward.

"Yuuri, maybe you should lay down for a bit. It looks like they hit you pretty hard." Yakov urged, worry evident in his voice - but Yuuri wasn't having it.

 

"I'm okay, it's fine." He muttered. "Just a bit of a headache."

 

"A-are you sure? You don't mean you still think you can skate, right?"

 

He lifted a hand to his head, hissing as he found where they'd hit him. His hair felt sticky - and not from gel.

 

"Katsudon... you can't seriously..." Yurio's voice was trembling. Yuuri smiled at him.

 

"Please, I've skated with worse headaches. It looks worse than it is, I'll bet." He boasted, though he wasn't entirely sure whether that was true. He pushed past them, each step making him more sure in his decision.

 

He needed to skate. He only had a few minutes before he would default, seeing as Yurio had left the ice already. Competitions at this level didn't do do-overs - you were either there, or you lost. And Yuuri needed to advance to the Grand Prix Final. He'd promised Victor.

 

When he pushed past the curtain and the cameras found him, a collective gasp went up through the audience. He peered at the big screens in the middle of the rink. He couldn't make out much detail - _where were his glasses?_ A dilemma for another time - but a red blot over the left side of his face was visible even to him.

 

He couldn't think right now. This was his last chance to continue skating with Victor and he'd be damned if he let it slip. Even if his head felt like a train had run over it. If he quit now, then his assailants had what they wanted: him disgraced and Victor back on the ice.

 

He was barely aware of taking off his skate protectors and skating to his starting position. He cleared his head. The music started.

 

The choreography came to him naturally, so deeply ingrained and awakened by the notes that had started over the sound system. If anything, this attack had ensured that Yuuri would skate his heart out. Objectively, he knew that he could not skate nearly as well as he could when he was in top form. This might be his last time on the ice. But Victor was watching, across the world over the livestream.

 

He paced himself through his step sequence, focusing his thoughts solely on Victor, how happy he looked when Yuuri did it perfectly, the thousands of times they'd skated it.

 

He'd do this. For Victor. To show him how strong he'd made Yuuri, how strong love had made him. He wasn't the sniffling klutz who messed up his jumps anymore.

_Yuuri... you're not weak. No one else thinks that either_.

 

That memory, from the beach, launched Yuuri into his first jump. It wasn't perfect, but there were enough rotations and he didn't touch down.

 

His head was pounding now, but the only thing that pounded harder was the adrenaline of everything that had just happened - Yuuri could only try and channel that fuel towards his performance. It was getting harder - though the harder it became, the deeper Yuuri lost himself in the memories of his routine, letting his love for Victor wring every last bit of energy from his screaming blood.

 

He had stamina. He knew that. He would not forgive himself if he did not push himself to do as much as he could, no matter how much he wanted to stop. He grit his teeth against the pain and launched himself into a three jump combo. He crashed down on his last jump, the pressure in his head so high that the fall was inevitable. He didn't even know whether there had been enough rotations - he just pushed himself off the ice and onto his feet.

 

His adrenaline would soon wear out. But he had a triple Lutz - triple toe loop combination coming up and he was going to do it if it killed him. After that, it was only a short step sequence and a spin.

 

He was vaguely aware of the gasps and cheers of the audience as he pushed himself beyond his limits, fighting through the pain and fighting through his program.

 

The final notes of his song almost surprised him as he found himself in his closing position, one arm raised, pointing at an empty spot at the rink side where Victor was supposed to be.

 

He felt it, when the last of the adrenaline flowed out of him. He groaned as the pain rolled over him in waves.

 

His head was killing him.

 

The light was too bright.

 

He felt himself go limp.

 

He was out before he hit the ice.

 

###

 

Victor Nikiforov was a star at completely surprising his audience. Though he had never done anything like Yuuri did today.

 

For a second, he thought he was watching the wrong livestream. The man they had announced as Yuuri Katsuki wasn't him, was it?

 

But all too soon, a close up came and Victor gasped. Yuuri was sporting a large bruise over his eye and he seemed to be injured to the side of his head as well.

 

"Well, it seems something happened to Japan's Katsuki! I don't recall that bruise from the six minute warm up, how about you?" One commentator asked his companion.

 

Victor didn't need to hear the reply. He had just texted Yuuri, only ten minutes ago or so. He hadn't alluded to anything like this.

 

Was Yuuri even able to skate? He looked barely stable on his feet. What the _hell_ had happened?

"This just in! Two men were just arrested on the charge of attacking Japan's contestant. Sources tell us they wanted payback for Katsuki taking Victor Nikiforov out of competitive skating to be his coach, as well as starting a relationship with him! Victor Nikiforov is-"

 

Victor didn't hear the rest.

_Oh god._

 

Two men had attacked Yuuri. His Yuuri! Rage filled him. He wished he was there. He wanted to smash their faces in, whoever they were.

 

The Katsuki family was watching the livestream with him, all of them shocked and distraught, much like Victor. He noted that they had tears in their eyes and he was surprised to find that he was crying too.

 

Yuuri's mother surprised him. She moved to sit next to him, wrapping her arms around him. "It's not your fault." She consoled him in her best English. He just hugged her. Yuuri definitely took after his mother, the sweet caring soul that she was. Somehow that just made him wish it was Yuuri he was holding.

 

"No way." Mari gasped. Victor looked up at the screen.

 

Yuuri had started skating. Victor's eyes nearly bugged out of his skull.

 

"What's that idiot doing! He looks ready to faint!" He said weakly. At the same time, he realized what Yuuri was thinking. This was his last chance for the Grand Prix Final. He was going to give it everything he got.

 

Victor's heart swelled as he watched the performance. Yuuri was clearly in pain, pushing himself as hard as he could. And still, he could feel love in the performance, expressing the meaning of the song through his movements. He felt pride surge through him as he realized that Yuuri was doing it for _him_. It wasn't perfect - hell, it was sloppy - touching down on one of the quads and fully crashing after a triple combo. Victor knew, though, that this was the _very_ best he could skate right now, giving him everything he could and so much more.

 

God, he loved him. So, so much. That brilliant idiot.

 

The commentators and the audience were equally impressed, seeing that Yuuri was using the adrenaline and pain to fuel his performance. They were cheering loudly, though Yuuri hardly seemed to hear them.

As he slowed to a stop, holding out one arm in his closing position, all the spectators went wild.

 

Victor didn't even notice that. He could only watch in horror as it happened. The tension leaving Yuuri's limbs. The pain washing over his face, his eyes scrunched closed in agony and finally, when all the blood seemed to have left his face, Yuuri's knees giving out.

 

It seemed like an eternity. The lone figure, tiny on the massive white expanse on the ice, not moving a muscles. It felt like a hundred years before the medics skated hurriedly across the ice, trying to rouse him to no avail.

 

Nausea roiled in his stomach as Victor watched, helplessly on the other side of the world, as Yuuri was taken away on a stretcher, his face as white as the ice and his bruise as red as the stain he'd left behind.

 

He did the only thing he could think of.

 

He called Yakov.

 

###

 

The first thing he became aware of was Yakov speaking Russian. He blinked, wincing as a jolt of pain erupted from his left eye.

 

"Here, here! I can help you with that! I've had such an injury myself and I found that the best way-"

 

Was that... yes, that was JJ's voice. Why was JJ here? Wait... where was _here_ exactly?

 

"Shut the hell up, you moron! You're just giving the pork cutlet bowl a bigger head ache!"

 

That was Yurio, beyond a doubt. The room slowly came into focus. An unknown man was leaning over him, peering into his eyes.

 

"Ahh!" Yuuri exclaimed, not expecting anyone so close.

 

"Well, he's responsive." The man said, uselessly. Yurio huffed derisively, as if to say 'duh' as only fifteen year olds can do.

 

"What... where am I?" Yuuri grunted. His head was killing him. Memories slowly came back to him. The two men - the attack... his free skate. "Did I... lose?"

 

Yurio answered him immediately. "You're through to the Grand Prix Final. You didn't lose, though not for lack of trying. What the fuck were you thinking?"

 

JJ opened his mouth before Yuuri could answer. "Hey - that's okay! I wanted to beat Yuuri, but not like this!" He proclaimed loudly. "I'll prove I'm the best when I beat both of you in top form! It's JJ Sty-"

 

"Shut the fuck up!" Yakov and Yurio bit at him.

 

Yuuri let his eyes fall closed again, shutting out the chaos.

 

He was through - he made it. He made it. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, leaking out against his will.

 

"Yuuri..." Yakov's hand touched his shoulder. "I have Victor on the phone. He wants to talk to you. Are you..?" He trailed off.

 

Yuuri didn't trust himself enough to answer, just held out his hand for the phone.

 

"Hi." He said as he pressed the phone to his ear.

 

"Yuuri..." Victor's voice was a breath of relief. "I don't know whether to chew you out or praise you to the high heavens. Yakov said he didn't know either, because even I haven't done anything as stupid and brave as that."

 

Yuuri chuckled through his tears. "I don't care, as long as you do it quietly. JJ just punctured my eardrums, I think."

 

"I'm taking the next flight to Moscow, so I'll see you soon, okay? Just take it easy, Yakov says you have a concussion."

 

"Oh... That explains the head ache."

 

He could almost hear Victor rolling his eyes at that.

 

"Oh, Yuuri... you're a handful."

_That's why you love me_.

 

He didn't dare say that out loud. Not right now. His head was swimming again, the ceiling performing an Ina Bauer as it tilted backwards. He hardly noticed when Yakov relieved him of the phone and his eyes slid closed again.

 

###

 

He woke a couple of times, vague memories of familiar faces peering down at him. He was in another room, he thought, but he found he didn't care much.

 

The sun was up again when he woke properly. He blinked. His head felt loads better, though he suspected that he was on medication, as he felt suspiciously light at the same time.

 

There was pressure on his thigh. He looked - greasy strand of silver hair lay across his lap as Victor used his leg as a pillow. A patch of drool was drying on the blanket.

 

Poor Victor. He looked exhausted. Lightly, he brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. Victor stirred and opened his eyes - then they snapped up to look at Yuuri.

 

"Yuuri!"

 

"You got here fast." He smiled.

 

Victor wasted no time, pressing his lips against Yuuri's in a chaste but heartfelt kiss.

 

"You're going to be okay. It's just a concussion and they feared your cheekbone may have been broken, but it's just a hairline fracture. It'll be all okay. They said you can leave the hospital in a couple of hours, if you woke up okay." He rushed out.

 

"Good." Yuuri smiled.

 

They stayed silent for a little while. Victor was obviously chewing on something he wanted to say. Yuuri watched and waited patiently.

 

"I shouldn't have left you alone." Victor blurted out suddenly. _There it was_. "I should have been more aware that... that people like that could come after you. You were scared about that and I just laughed it off."

 

Yuuri had seen this coming. The second those men had jumped him, he'd known Victor would steal some of the blame to wear it around his neck like one of those many gold medals.

 

"Georgi warned me." He started softly. Victor nodded, guilt written across his face. "And Yurio and Yakov, what did they do after it happened?"

 

"Yakov made sure you got all the right medical attention and he dealt with the police. Yurio formed a one-man vigilante team and threatened to eviscerate anyone that came close to you." Victor smiled at the memory. Yuuri's heart melted at that.

 

"So..." Yuuri pondered. "I guess it was a bit bigoted from me to just state that Russians hate the thought of two men being together. Strange how that works both ways."

 

Victor blinked at him owlishly. "You definitely have a concussion."

 

Yuuri snorted. "Come on, what I'm trying to say is... These two attacked me, not because they were Russian. They were just assholes. Most Russians I know are pretty awesome, actually."

 

Victor laughed at that, a hearty, relieved laugh.

 

"You're such a little cinnamon bun, aren't you? God, I love you."

 

Yuuri grinned. "I love you too."

_Yeah, most Russians aren't so bad_ , Yuuri thought as Victor pressed their lips together once more.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please drop me a note if you like it :)


End file.
